


Only A Game

by Darkravenwrote



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Malfoy Manor, Murder Mystery, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9257747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkravenwrote/pseuds/Darkravenwrote
Summary: Playing a magical couples equivalent of Cluedo is all part of the holiday spirit, or so Draco tells Harry looking not at all sure. Harry expects a cosy family game around a fireplace with faeries casting glowlights from the tree. What he gets is an evening being chased around Malfoy Manor by numerous other viciously competitive couples and relatives ‘full of holiday cheer’, a murder mystery that's far too realistic to have any business happening on Christmas Eve, and not a single line of tinsel in sight.Harry did not sign up for this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Errrr, so, sorry for holding up the whole fest...literally. This was originally only meant to be about 1.5k...and that didn't happen. And then I kept getting ideas that made it really convoluted and cut half of them out. So if you ever find yourself thinking 'hmmm, that's a lucky coincidink' that's because I cut out about 4k of complex plot and simplified it lol. It also turned out more puzzle solve and less bad-ass than I imagined...
> 
> Hope your new year is going amazing Cat. And that your holidays in general are going grand. Hope you enjoy the fic. I got your Clever!Draco in and mystery. Good father Lucius...er, yeah that one didn’t really happen except like as an underneath concept? Hmmmm.
> 
> Also, all the love in the world to the mods. I literally held up the fest and they didn’t even smack me on the wrist. (Please don’t ban me, I love this fest).
> 
> The latin won't be accurate. For translations (laugh) see the end notes. They won't be accurate, I only used google translate, but it's all part of the fun, right?

Harry reads the letter three times. Then he settles back into his old armchair and stares, utterly bewildered, at the elegant green script at the top: ' _To Mr Harry Potter._ '

He makes eye-contact with the large tawny owl pruning itself on the dining room table -- Mrs Weasley won't be pleased when she sees the doily its claws have ripped to shreds, but Harry can honestly say he's not overly bothered. It just glares balefully back at him with its bright orange eyes though, silent and unhelpful. When he pointedly raps the letter with his knuckles, the owl chuffs at him and holds its leg out.

At first, Harry thinks it wants a reply – rude little cretin – but then he sees a second scroll attached to its gnarled foot. Wary of the owl's beak this time, Harry flicks his wand to summon this one.

He frowns, then leans over the arm of his chair so he can see into the kitchen.

"Draco?"

He can't actually see him, but the casual humming lets Harry know he is in there bustling around with something, be it a potion or the washing up.

"Harry?" Draco sing-songs back, which tells Harry he hasn't been expecting a letter from his father, either that or he's forgotten. He asks anyway.

"Were you expecting something from your parents?"

The humming stops first, then metal hits the granite worktop, then utter silence. Draco appears in the archway entrance to the kitchen moments later, his eyes wide.

He gathers himself, his lips pursing, then says, "An invitation?"

"Yeah, I guess, sort of."

Harry chucks Draco's still rolled scroll with little finesse and takes the time to reread his _again_ while Draco studies it.

'To Mr Harry Potter,

You are cordially invited to take part in Lucius Malfoy's Christmas Eve Brunch.

Last night, a gruesome, but highly creative, murder took place somewhere in the West Wing of Malfoy Manor. You and your partner are hereby nominated to find the body, determine which spell the culprits used to commit the crime, and discover whom the guilty party is.

You are assigned one complex spell for the duration of the event. This is for your primary usage and shall be your only defence. All other spells are forbidden including counter curses, excluding enchantments sanctioned under the Statute of Underage Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 

Your assigned partner: Draco Malfoy

Your assigned spell (to be used on yourself or others as you deem necessary): oculi talpa

 

Please return safely to the floo atrium to announce your solution (regardless of any suspected personal involvement in the crime), thereby concluding the event.

 

The Malfoys look forward to hosting you and eleven other guests for our annual celebration.

 

Sincerest best wishes,

Lucius Malfoy'

 

“What is it?” Harry says when Draco's eyes dart back up to the top of the page and start rereading it again.

“An invitation to my father's Christmas Eve brunch.” Draco glances up, “Obviously,” then goes back to his parchment.

“I got that part,” Harry says, hoisting himself from his chair and ambling over. He learned the hard way that wherever Lucius Malfoy is concerned the best way to approach Draco is with slow movements and calm patience. “What's that?”

“I didn't mention it before?” Draco mutters back, not looking up this time. His cheeks flush a flattering shade of pink, though Harry can't tell if it is embarrassment at forgetting or because he's uncomfortable.

“No.” Harry flicks absently as the owl nips at his fingers and hops around on the edge of the table. Attention seeking little fucker.

“It's...” Draco scowls unhappily at the owl. “...tradition,” he admits slowly. “Sort of a game. He holds them every year.”

“How can it 'sort of' be a game? Surely it is or it isn't?”

“Father's idea of a game may not exactly match up with yours.” Draco nibbles his lip as he finally meets Harry's eyes. Harry raises his eyebrows expectantly. “They can be a little, how should I put this, brutal.”

“In what way exactly?”

Draco reads over part of the letter. “Well, you read it, didn't you?”

“You can't seriously be trying to tell me Lucius Malfoy organised a murder in his own house and currently has a cadaver stashed away somewhere for the sake of a game. That's not going to do his probation any good.”

“No, no,” Draco reassures hurriedly. “I doubt it's a real body, just staged. That's not where the fun is. This year seems to be some sort of criminal investigation drama. It's that spell that worries me.”

“What does it do?”

“Mole eyes.”

“What?”

“It's exactly what it sounds like. Would you like me to demonstrate?” A cruel smirk curls the corners of his mouth, one that Harry loves -- wickedly intelligent and incredibly wicked at once. Harry tries to ignore the slight rise in his pulse.

“I think I'll manage without, thanks.”

“So why don't we just, I don't know, not go? I'd rather be at the Weasley's eating Molly's cooking if I'm honest.”

Draco sighs, a loud huff that sends skitters of warm air fluttering over Harry's bare neck. “We can't. There'll be some kind of curse or contingency plan somewhere.” He glances suspiciously at the owl still watching them. “You should know my father by now. Pansy tried to ditch once when we were young, she ended up being mysteriously terrified of all food except walnut cake for a month.”

“But she's allergic to...oh.”

“And she gained weight – couldn't fit into her midsummer robes, her parents were furious, but they couldn't prove father had anything to do with it.”

“So what you're saying is we should go.”

Draco flicks at his hair, cocks a hip and lowers his chin. Harry knows that fire in his eyes, and he can tell it's going to spread to him just like it does when they're both on a broom.

“I'm saying we're going to go and that we're going to damn well _win_.”

“Right.” Harry sighs and lets himself be tugged into the kitchen.

 

***

The floo atrium, as it turns out, is more of a buffet extravaganza – which is odd because Harry remembers it being a lot smaller the last time he was here. A little house elf greets them as they whisk in through the green flames.

“Don't eat anything,” Draco snaps immediately, even though Harry made no move to take anything.

The elf nods approvingly at Draco. “Spiffy is being happy to see Master Draco has not lost his smarts. Master Goyle has been grievously ill.” It frowns down at its own hands, fingers curling in the empty air. “Spiffy is not understanding. Spiffy made all the food itself only this morning!”

“I don't think you're to blame, Spiffy,” Draco says with more kindness than Harry has ever heard him use when talking to one of his family's elves. Not that he's cruel, usually just sharp and dismissive. His gut stirs uncomfortably. He gets the distinct feeling this evening isn't going to be a simple walk around the manor.

“Oh!” Spiffy tugs at its overalls, straightens its spine and beams up at them. It clears it's throat importantly. “Welcome to the Floo Atrium. It will serve as the neutral zone for the duration of Master Lucius Malfoy's Christmas Eve Brunch.” The forceful capitalisation of so many words makes Harry's head spin a little. “You may not cast _any_ spells in this room. Outside of this room, only Statute of Underage Wizardry approved spells and your prescribed enchantment are allowed. Should you break this rule you _will_ be disqualified and incur a forfeit. You may remain in this room for up to fifteen minutes before venturing into the rest of the manor.” It stares up at them with huge, round eyes. “Does the young masters be having any questions?”

Harry tilts his head towards Draco rather than at the elf. “Why would we want to stay here for that long?”

Draco pinches the top of his nose, eyes rolling to the heavens longsufferingly. “To plot, Potter!” He taps Harry's shoulder admonishingly with the back of his hand. “You don't run out into Malfoy Manor, potions blazing, without a good solid plan of attack.”

“And why would we need that. This is a race to solve the crime, right?”

Draco stares at him, his eyelids half-closed and eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Harry has the distinct impression that he has missed something.

“Bearing in mind that you're playing with, I would guess, at least ninety percent Slytherins, and that it is unlikely my father would only give _us_ a personalised spell with rather negative effects, would you like to rethink that really rather daft question.”

Right. Horrible spells, plus Slytherins, multiplied by competition probably equals – as Draco warned – a brutal game.

“So, what's the plan?” Harry asks, deciding to rely on any prior experience Draco has. Planning isn't really Harry's strong suit anyway.

“My father likes neatness. It's unlikely he gave each pair a spell like this for the fun of watching us tear each other apart.” Harry can think of several examples that disprove that statement, but Spiffy is tapping its foot impatiently so he keeps quiet. “My guess would be that the murder is related to one of our spells.”

“But we don't know what other spells people have, or even how many other pairs there are.”

Draco's index finger presses at a faint scar near his hairline like it does whenever he's thinking something through.

“We do. Eleven other guests, that's what the invitation said.” He watches the sun setting through the wide, veiled windows for a moment. Harry fails to see how this counts as 'brunch', but Draco said they would be summoned and here they are now in the evening. “Mother and father don't count as guests although I assume they're taking part to keep the game interesting – although father won't have any interest in winning, that's not where the fun is for him. Me as your partner makes ten, so five there. Six other pairs in total, all with different spells to ours.”

“...right. So we-”

“Spiffy is sorry to be interrupting the young masters, but Spiffy is warning that they only have five minutes of safety left.” Harry think it worded it so ominously on purpose.

Draco swallows, the pad of his finger pressing in harder. Then that fire burns again. “Game plan.” He says, no nonsense. “We need to find that body first and figure out cause of death, then work on finding out what spells other pairs have. We're going to avoid duels for the time being, but watch out for anyone having one between themselves. It doesn't say anywhere in the rules we're disqualified if we're hit by anyone's spells, but judging by ours it would hinder us exponentially.”

“Sounds logical,” Harry agrees, feeling rather useless.

“We need to beware my father as well. He'll have some tricks up his sleeve. We should definitely be avoiding him.”

“He's a slippery bastard, yeah, but why so expressly?”

Draco steps up to him and kisses his cheek gently. It feels patronising.

“Even if we were to duel him for his information, he won't let us see his spell. He's had a long time to think about how you can incapacitate someone with underage spells. Using his curse would shorten the game. It's likely his curse is the murder curse, because he knows it won't be used during the game and we'll have to make sure by process of elimination.”

Harry nods and takes his first decisive step towards the archway leading to the empty front hallway.

“On the other hand.” Harry halts. “It might be a double bluff to make us get cocky.” Draco cocks his head and considers Harry. “But we don't really have any choice but to go about things this way. And everyone else will be thinking the same thing, so we should try not to use our spell either. Hopefully the others will get cocky instead.”

That cruel smile is back, vicious and without a single hint of playfulness. If Harry didn't know better he'd say they were going to war rather than for a quick game of magical Cluedo personified.

 

***

The game is not quick.

For one, they haven't found the sodding body yet. For another, Draco insists they spend half their time back-tracking and avoiding other people.

Admittedly, that plan is working currently, but it makes the Auror in Harry itch for action.

Well, it's going well until they literally run into Millicent Bulstrode and Neville – of all people – arguing in a random corridor. Harry vaguely remembers something about them both being in the same herbology club.

Harry feels helpless without the use of his magic. Not real use anyway.

Draco makes him run.

They end up in a dusty reception room, filled with upturned sofas and the shattered remains of a chandelier. By this point the sun has fully set outside as well. Only a small candle flickers with blue light in the corner. Harry can't wait to sarcastically thank Lucius Malfoy for all the help.

The confrontation doesn't last as long as he thinks it will. He and Draco duck behind a three-seater. Numerous loud thuds and shuffles follow as Bulstrode and Neville bump into furniture and each other.

Harry shifts to see what they're doing, and Neville must see him in the dark, because suddenly he hisses ‘ _tigris unguess’_ and a streak of bright amber light smashes into a cushion beside Harry's face. Feathers explode everywhere.

Harry turns to shove Draco out of the way in case a second spell comes their way, except he has gone!

“You idiot!” Bulstrode shrieks. “I told you not to use it!”

“It doesn't matter,” Neville hisses back, “it isn't our spell.”

 _Slap_.

Quiet.

_Thud._

_Thud._

“Neutralised,” Draco calls. “We need to get moving, Harry.”

As they're leaving, Harry hears Bulstrode behind him, voice high and panicked. “What the fuck! I can't see!”

Draco carefully locks the door behind them.

“It's okay that you used it?” Harry murmurs as they continue creeping along the corridor towards the next room in the long list to be checked.

“I was a way away, and I only muttered it. I don't think they would have heard. Besides, they're not a threat now. They've already seen the body and they knew it wasn't their spell. Without their sight they'll have a hard time figuring out what spells other people have.”

“What if it's our spell?” Harry listens at the next door, then they both slip stealthily inside, their conversation paused. It's only an empty bathroom though. They move on. “They could figure it out by the effect it had on them, right?”

“True, but that's why we locked the door. Even if they could figure out how to get out, they literally couldn't have been more unlucky. This is the farthest point from the atrium in the whole West Wing. Do you think you could get back there blind? And you've got me. Bulstrode's only been here a few times, she wouldn't be able to remember the way without using the portraits as markers.” Affronted, the portrait of an old man with a hooked mustache grunts disapprovingly at them.

“It's true,” Harry hisses defensively at him as they sweep silently past.

 

***

One down, five to go. Harry thinks if Neville hadn't inferred they'd seen the body he might suspect Lucius of playing foul.

Luck seems to be on their side. Two floors up from where they left Neville and Bulstrode arguing blindly in a locked room, a flash of light around a corner has Harry pulling Draco by his arm behind a stone statue. He points, silent, to an ajar door a few metres up the hallway.

Draco holds up his hand, though, and Harry waits obediently.

Then he sees why. From around the corner more light flashes, then a shrill scream. Blaise Zabini backs around T-junction, his feet silent on the burgundy carpet and his wand drawn. One of the Greengrass sisters – the older one, Harry thinks drudging through his memory – follows close behind him.

“Marcus!” Pansy wails hysterically from out of sight. “You'll pay for this, Daphne! _Canis morsus!_ ” Bright yellow zips around the corner, bouncing maliciously off the walls and hits Zabini square in the chest. He yells out and collapses, blood flowing from his chest. Harry is hiding too far away to identify the type of wound.

“You bitch!” Greengrass spits, streaking back the way she'd come.

Parkinson yelps again.

Draco has crept forward. He cautiously inches the door near them open and gestures for Harry to go inside.

Harry shakes his head and ventures towards Zabini's body. As he passes he checks to make sure he's still breathing. Four puncture wounds seep blood high on his chest where the spell hit. He slides against the navy wall up to the corner and peeks round, heart in his throat.

“You'll regret that, Parkinson,” Greengrass hisses, bending over Parkinson's prone form. “ _Velleribus ovium._ ”

White, cloudy wool winds from Greengrass' wand and burrows against Parkinson's face. Behind them, half propped against another statue is Flint, white fluff hanging from his bloodied nose.

Harry retreats.

Draco is already in the room. It's dark, pitch black.

Draco waits until Harry has completely closed the door then casts a dull _lumos._ The room lights up in segments. Closed curtains, an upturned dark wood chest-of-drawers, bed covers ripped and scattered around the soft carpet.

“It's here. Look.”

The body lies on the bed, stretched out on the dark sheet.

They navigate closer, avoiding everything littered around the room.

Lucius has at least been kind enough to make the image a stranger to them. Even though Harry knows it is fake, even though he has seen plenty of _real_ corpses on the job, it still sends a shiver down his spine.

It's a man with appropriately deathly white skin and blue features. His fingers are frostbitten. Tiny slashes pepper his skin like millions of minuscule shaving cuts.

“I'd like to reiterate here,” Harry murmurs, brushing his free hand down Draco's arm for reassurance, “that this isn't exactly what I picture myself doing at Christmas. Doesn't really fit my 'family holiday' image, you know?”

“It fits mine perfectly,” Draco replies morbidly, sniffing at the air. “He's been frozen, that's probably what killed him.”

“Again, you know this isn't real, right? Can't we just go shag somewhere and pretend we gave it our best?”

Draco stares at him, the shadows cast off by the dim light of his wand play off his face. He looks ghostly, with sharp cheekbones and hollow eyes. “I'm afraid we can't do that, Harry. We're involved now. More to the point, I'd bet my Firebolt Nott is somewhere in this house and I'll be hanged before I see him win this.”

Here they go again. “So that's what this is about, why you're getting so competitive, because your ex is involved. Circe, _I_ should take your fucking Firebolt as compensation.”

“I'll let you fuck me over my potions desk.”

Harry jerks. “Seriously?” He's been trying to convince Draco that would be a worthwhile diversion for months, maybe nearly a year now. Apparently, until this second, questions of sterility and hygiene made it impossible.

“Win this thing for me and you can.”

“That's all I've got to do?”

“I'm not stupid, Potter,” Draco whispers, seduction turned from one to five-hundred in a heartbeat. “You're the best Auror in the department and you've barely done anything so far. I know you've been half-arsing it. Even seeing what Greengrass was up to out there was only instinct.”

Lips brush, agonisingly gently, against Harry's collarbone.

“Win this for me, beat Nott and slap this whole thing in my father's face, and I'll let you do whatever you like on that table, whatever position you like. I won't even limit you to just once, I'll give you a whole day to play with.” Wet tongue drags over Harry's skin.

“What can I say, you know me,” Harry sighs, pushing gently at Draco's rhythmically clenching stomach. “However, while that thing might be fake, I still think it would be horrendously inappropriate to hump in the same room as it.”

Draco hops back playfully, ducks in for a quick peck on the lips and dances out of reach again. “You're absolutely right, Potter. Mind on the matter at hand. Tell me about Greengrass so we can get out of here.”

“She smothered them with wool.”

Draco nods. “Nicely done, Daph. But that didn't do this.”

“Zabini had puncture marks.”

“Mmhmm, their spell summoned a spectral dog bite, wasn't that either. And Longbottom cast some sort of tiger curse. Claws, maybe, if we've got a dog bite? Not that either.”

“So we need to find out the other curses before we can advance.”

Draco kisses his cheek, intimate and slow. Approving. “Finding the other curses _is_ advancing.”

He strides determinedly back to the door and peers back at Harry through the gloom, his dim _lumos_ flashing across the floor.

The light catches on something.

“Wait, do that again,” Harry hisses.

Harry crouches down for it when Draco sweeps the room like a searchlight again. “I know what this is,” Harry says by feel alone. “It's a snake scale.”

“Let me see that.” Harry hands it off and casts his own _lumos_ closer so they can inspect it. It's small, triangular and hard, no bigger than Harry's thumb nail. It sparkles sapphire blue back at them. “I know _exactly_ what this is. It's from a Zofren, we use the scales in potions to keep the core temperature low while still boiling the outer sphere.”

“So we're looking for someone with a spell that utilises the snake's effects. But why would Lucius leave a scale here, isn't that a bit obvious for him?”

Draco flicks his wand up and stares back at the abandoned body. “I don't think we're being literal enough. Some of the spells seem to be more like curses, like the dog bite. And others, like ours, seem to actually transfigure. Our spell literally blinds people by giving them mole eyes. Maybe that's what happened here. Zefron have ridiculously low core temperatures, it's why their scales work for my potions. On the living reptile it works the same way, like wearing a coat of permanent ice.”

“So you think all those cuts are where the curse caused him to grow a reptile skin of these scales and it froze him because inside he's just a delicate human.”

“Exactly. We've got my parents and Nott still out there and one other pair. We haven't seen Goyle around yet and, if Daphne's here, Astoria is likely to be as well.”

They listen at the door then, make sure that Greengrass isn't loitering outside, and slip back out into the corridor.

“You don't know who the last person is?”

“No, but it doesn't really matter.”

“We can't set a trap here to wait for people to show up; we might be the last ones here as it is.” Harry considers what he knows of the manor. “The most logical thing to do might also be the most dangerous.”

“Go on.”

“We should find a vantage point near the atrium; it's the only place everyone has in common. Everyone will be going there either to answer the riddle and put an end to this fucking thing, or to stake out and wait for other players.”

Draco's arms slide around him from behind. His fingers caress across Harry's chest over his robes. “I love it when you prove you're not an idiot to me, Potter.”

“Alright, alright, no need to patronise.”

 

***

“You fucking useless weasel!” Nott yells.

“Better than being a spineless toad!” Percy Weasley – really? Harry rather thought any Weasley would disintegrate upon setting foot inside the manor – shrieks back, his face as red as his dishevelled hair.

“Why are you even here?”

“Apparently we're friends. You don't have many of them, right, Nott?” Percy sneers.

“We've played chess at the club twice! I can't imagine what was going through Mr. Malfoy's mind when he paired us up, never mind when he _invited_ you.” Harry has to chuckle at that. Nearly thirty years old and Nott's still calling him Mr. Malfoy like a snivelling schoolboy.

Draco elbows him and he quiets himself.

Percy seems to have the same idea though. He guffaws, the sound of it echoing around and up to the landing where Harry and Draco crouch. “Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy. Do shut up. I've had about enough of you.”

“Yeah, what you going to do about it, Weasley, parrot some ministry shit at me and bore me to death?”

“I'm going to shut you up for one!” Percy screams.

They draw their wands simultaneously. Then:

“ _Equus dentium_!” Percy casts.

“ _Lumos maxima!”_ Nott shrieks more forcefully than Harry has ever heard it cast. The spell hits Percy directly in the face. His scream pierces into Harry's ears, high-pitched and terrible. Meanwhile, Nott's front teeth punch out from between this snarled lips and grow down into his chin. He collapses.

Harry turns away. “Does he have any redeeming features?” he asks Draco.

Draco shakes his head soberly, mournfully.

They start down the stairs to their left. Nott's too busy pawing at his chin and making gurgling noises to notice them as they stride past.

 

***

“You really think Lucius kept that spell for himself so it never gets cast?” Harry asks once they've wedged themselves behind an innocent-looking bookcase that might be Their Spot. He keeps his voice low in case they aren't the only ones who had this idea. Draco verges on paranoia, not that Harry blames him; Lucius has probably been staked out here with Narcissa since the summoning fluttered through the fireplace.

“Almost positive, based on the information we've got so far.”

Harry settles one of his palms on Draco's thigh, because of the cramped space and because he wants to. “And your mother can't be tricked into giving it away?”

“No, father didn't marry her for her looks you know.” His brow scrunches. “Or, more accurately, Grandfather didn't choose her because of her looks.”

“But if you're sure it's them, why can't we just go for the atrium now and gamble it? I know you want to win, _believe_ me I want nothing more either” – an image of Draco bent over his forbidden potions desk flashes through Harry's mind – “but surely it's worth the gamble?”

“No, he'll have precautions against that. Memory proof required or something ludicrous.” Draco smiles slyly at him. The hair at the nape of his neck is damp, his scent strong in the confined space. Harry has to shift away from him a little to keep his mind on the task at hand. “You'll have to buck up, Mister Big Auror, and win this for me the old-fashioned way.”

Harry hums noncommittally, eyes darting around. They can see the reception room that leads through to the atrium from here. Everything stays still.

“Will Percy be alright?”

“Nott must have blinded him with that _lumos_ , but it's perfectly fixable. I do feel a little sorry for him. The pain must have been dreadful, not like our spell which probably just feels horrid. I think it was the shock that got Millicent and Longbottom on the floor.  With the spells we've got except the special ones, it's probably the easiest way to incapacitate someone though.”

Harry nods along; it all makes sense.

“I think we should pick another spot, try and get closer maybe? Even if we saw someone, we're too far away to do anything,” Harry says.

Draco peers out from behind the bookcase, which is agreement enough for Harry to start moving too – protecting his back as Draco scouts out for a new spot.

“Oh,” Harry hears as he clears a corner that leads into a cloakroom.

“What is it?” he hisses.

“Greg and Astoria,” Draco whispers back.

They have both collapsed halfway up a set of stairs, their wands abandoned several steps below. Not a scale in sight though, no blood or sign of injury. But Harry can't see what knocked them out either.

Harry creeps forward to study them, confident Draco will keep lookout. He studies them. Robes in order, except from the general disorder of falling down. Greengrass groans, pitiful and pained, as he lifts her shoulder to get a glimpse of her back, no blood there either but _there!_ Amongst her golden mass of curls.

“Draco, blood from her ear.” Harry shifts her the other way. “Both ears.”

“A high-pitched frequency could have caused haemorrhaging in the brain. I can't think of a simple spell that would do that, so it might be my parents' spell, but I don't know everything.”

“Say that again, I need to make a record of it. Christmas 2016, Draco Malfoy admits-”

“Ha-bloody-ha. It might be a trick, though. All the curses so far have had something to do with animals and it would sap the fun out of things if my father broke his own rule; it will apply to him as well.”

“Well, I can't think of an under-age spell that would do this either. But...what about something loud? If you made someone's hearing better without protecting their brain, loud noise would have the same effect, yeah?”

“Like some kind of animal? So there is a reason I keep you around, Potter.”

“Which would mean these guys have the snake spell and are the 'guilty party'?”

“A double bluff? That sounds like father. Everyone would assume he had the spell and they just had to find the evidence to prove it. Meanwhile, he gets rid of these two so they never have a chance to reveal the spell – or probably even find the body.”

They slink back down the stair and pause at their bookcase.

“Goyle's never struck me as the brightest pixie in the jar either.”

“And Astoria's ditsy as an elf cleaning heirlooms.”

“So.” Harry sidles closer and wraps his fingers around Draco's. “We're done?”

“We're done. Father will be waiting to ambush us, but, yes, let's go.”

They keep their hands joined as they head for the atrium only metres away. Harry feels like he's marching into battle again, like more than a stupid game – and the possibility of really good sex – is going on here.

As expected, Lucius waits for them by the atrium. He must have heard them talking, because he's not even hidden. Although Narcissa is a little more cautious, hovering beside a giant flowerpot taller than she is, ready to go on the defensive. Or maybe she's is a parallel Harry. When Harry catches her eye, she stares boredly back at him, pale eyes blank. He thinks it’s probably the latter.

“I don't suppose you'd let us through?” Harry asks. After all purebloods are all about manners, right?

Lucius casts at them instead, teeth bared, and they dive immediately to the side.

A short, pathetic duel follows, more like a light-show than a proper fight.

Harry manages to maneuver Lucius away from his position half blocking the arch, though, which he counts as progress until...

Harry sees it before it happens, as if in slow motion. Lucius' wand arm raises, and his tongue raises and his lips round for the _lu._ Narcissa must know what's about to happen too; she tenses and takes one aborted step away from safety, but she is too far away. He knows instinctively what he has to do, like when he's on a raid and he takes a risk even though he knows Robards will verbally throttle him later.

Harry turns his own wand on Draco and casts calmly, “ _Oculi talpa_.”

Draco screeches like a banshee, but it's from outrage rather than pain.

Harry already has a hold of his arm, dragging him bodily towards the atrium's archway, before “ _POTTER!!_ ” even leaves Draco's mouth. The rage of it vibrates through Draco's chest and along Harry's arms from where they're connected.

“I'm going to fucking kill you, Potter,” Draco hisses, tongue between his teeth, as Harry pulls him across the boundary into the atrium. They stumble and trip against one another.

"See you next year, Mr Potter," Lucius calls faintly.

Harry ignores him. “I'll fix it, I swear.” He leans in, presses his lips against Draco's ear once they’ve both got their breath back and adrenalin levels approaching normal. “Or...we could...experiment a little?”

“I'm fucking _blind,_ Potter. I've got _mole's eyes_ , for Salazar's sake! I'm not playing kink with you right now. Get me home. We can gloat over afternoon tea next Sunday.”

“I'm sure a simple finite will fix you right up.”

“It better,” Draco grumps.

They stand in awkward silence while Spiffy stares up at them, blocking the floo with its tiny body – perhaps Lucius didn't reiterate instructions for when somebody actually won?

“But I still won it for us. I get my treat, right?”

That cruel little smile Harry likes on Draco’s red, red lips. “Oh, yes, Harry,” Draco purrs. “I'll make sure it's _backbreaking_ for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Spell List  
> Again, the latin won't be accurate, please just generously ignore it. All part of the fun.  
> horse teeth - equus dentium - Theodore Nott/Percy Weasley  
> tiger claws - tigris unguess - Neville Longbottom/Millicent Bulstrode  
> rabbit ears - lepus auribus - Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy  
> wool sheep - velleribus ovium - Blaise Zabini/Daphne Greengrass  
> dog bite - canis morsus - Pansy Parkinson/Marcus Flint  
> snake scale - scala draco - Greggory Goyle/Astoria Greengrass  
> mole eyes - oculi talpa - Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy


End file.
